1001 Nights
by Sarshi
Summary: Shuuhei vs. Aizen. Rated for mindscrew.


**Disclaimer:** Bleach is owned by Kubo, who probably would be quite disturbed to own the idea to this story.

**Summary of sorts: **Let's just say that Seireitei attacked Hueco Mundo and Aizen really had his base there, ok?

**1001 Nights of Patience**

"Old wolves do not die gracefully." He'd heard that somewhere. He couldn't remember where, but it had stuck like yellowed leaves on the the soles of muddy boots, carried around forever until you realized it was there. But Shuuhei was not old. His bones were young, his teeth were whole, his hair shone with health. Long fingers may not have held Kazeshini any longer, but they had not lost their skill or their agility. His legs, his arms, while no longer training daily with his squad, were still strong. Muscles showed under the skin, dark gray eyes glinted in the half-light. But most of all, Shuuhei still had his vastly underrated mind. Even if no genius, he was still no man's fool and his observation skills were still there.

Aizen liked playing games, Shuuhei had noticed, he loved winning, enjoying his power. Mind games, body games. He liked stories, puzzles that fit together like narrative bits, creating an epic that propelled him forward to becoming a god not only in power, but also in myth, his beginnings wrapped in mystery and whispered tales.

A wolf caught in a trap may chew its leg off – this, too, Shuuhei had heard. And the young man wondered how long one had to chew to break through skin, through muscle, through bone to get rid of the trap, how one survived after the tendons were cut off and hunters rushed through the scene, how one hid the trail of blood with only three legs.

* * *

He knew the story, as did all the captives. 1001 nights, a mockery of Scheherezade and her magic tales. If Aizen got bored, he killed. After 1001 nights, you were safe. Nothing simpler, nothing more difficult, for the self-proclaimed future god of the world lost interest quickly, distracted by the war. He had a list of those whom he had started 'sampling', as well as the dates he had first 'sampled' them on, to make sure they would not be alive three years after he first touched them. He considered 1001 nights of actually sleeping with him unsportsmanlike, aware of his own tendencies toward boredom.

When it was Shuuhei's turn to be brought out of the dungeons and into the temporary chambers he would be kept in, he felt himself in full fighting force. Defiance. Aizen liked breaking spirits, but he would not break Shuuhei too soon and he would not murder the young man without breaking him.

There was no chance of not being broken, but one could always delay, in the hopes that the war would be over by the time when Aizen would lose interest – and that the right side will have won.

* * *

At first, there was pain. Defiance, fight, fire, were whipped and torn out of him, his body was broken and healed successively. Aizen was not a physical sadist, but a sadist of the mind – which did not mean he would not use one's body for his sadism. Cold, hot, sharp, blunt, jolts, Chinese drops, about once a week until, eight weeks later, Shuuhei gave signs of giving in. By the tenth week, sooner than he had anticipated, he started howling in pain, crying, begging to be forgiven. By the twelfth week, Aizen stopped, happy to see him shivering and willing to do anything for the pain to end.

Twice weekly basis as Aizen tried to figure out what to do with the young man – to kill, for his brokenness was boring? Or to keep, because he had started growing in a different direction?

He proved interesting, so in the fourteenth week, Aizen gave him a break to recuperate physically. Eighteen weeks was, after all, young enough to be able to be killed later.

When he called the young man back again, he was hollow. He served, a cold, perfect machine, healed outside, broken inside, like Aizen enjoyed them most when gloating. He used him personally first, amused at Shuuhei's loss of humanity, his automatic gestures. He got him to sleep with others in his retinue, but Gin refused a second time, being put off, Grimmjow lost interest quickly and Ulquiorra didn't seem to give a damn. He returned to Aizen.

Half a year after his first night, when Aizen was almost getting bored, Shuuhei broke down crying and became unable to talk, shivering and shaking with sobs. The self-proclaimed lord of Hueco Mundo felt intrigued and didn't want to kill him until he made certain that he knew what had just happened. He sent him off to his chambers, carried by Ulquiorra, who never spoke a word about the oddness of the jobs he performed.

The next day, he brought Shuuhei back again, only to have him silent as a stone before, halfway through the night, he burst into tears again without warning or reason. Again Aizen sent the kid off only to bring him back the next day.

By the end of this twenty-seventh week, Shuuhei had recuperated enough to say that he had betrayed Seireitei by being here with Aizen, by giving in to the torture so soon. Aizen was very understanding. Perhaps Shuuhei wanted to be killed? No, no. The man was afraid of dying. He was betraying Seireitei in his heart still.

Aizen patted his head and told him that no man on Shuuhei's side would be able to withstand Las Noches' torture.

Then Aizen was busy. He entertained himself shortly with a pair of twins brought over from Rukongai, forgetting his other 1001 Nights victims. The twins died when their act was repeated too often. Bored with his games, Aizen took a break from his usual nightly activities and considered. If even twins lost their shine so fast, perhaps one day he would have to go amazingly eccentric for a moment's satisfaction. As far as this he was fine, but... No, discipline. He must not indulge in everything all the time.

Forty-five weeks after his first night, Shuuhei was called again. He was half-crazed with loneliness and he pleaded Aizen to let him go, spare him. He could remember his old friends, he needed company. Aizen could take away all his shinigami powers, but he must let him go – really, he'd do anything Aizen desired to be let go.

Of course, the god-like man had no intention of freeing his prisoner, but he amused himself with making Shuuhei do everything that went through his mind, from simple gestures to those that were extremely lewd. He sent him away. A week after that, he called him again, put him through trial after trial. Another week, another night of trials. And then he told Shuuhei he had had no intention of freeing him, would never free him and, in fact, Shuuhei was just a doll in his hands, made to do whatever Aizen wanted. And now he was to die. The young man's outburst made him halt, however. "I'll never get to kill my mother!" Shuuhei wouldn't answer why he would want to do such a thing.

The torture started again in the forty-eighth week. Some secrets, Aizen noticed, made one forget the pain.

Week 53. Kill mother because she had wanted to hurt Gin-sama by poisoning on the 3rd of August, 1987. Gin was called and confirmed that he had been quite ill that day. So Shuuhei had a crush? Fascinating. Well, then, Gin could amuse himself.

Sometime during week 57, Gin discovered that Aizen had buried himself deep in Shuuhei's subconscious, making the captive lieutenant sob his name during sleep. The silver haired fox proposed a few games to be had with Shuuhei, since his mind was proving such a wonderful thing to break.

Week 60. Aizen and Gin deceptively soft and kind and tender. Shuuhei reduced to tears, confused. Gin was wrong, but his hero, and finally, after all the pain, why not give in? Why not turn in to the wishes of his former enemies?

Aizen decided eventually that Shuuhei was fun to have around. He was confused and shy and boyish, perhaps reverting strangely to a younger age. A very complex psychological case. The torture had apparently broken some hidden dams within him, getting him to confuse his own moral code. He gave in more and more to pleasure, coming to identify it with 'good' and 'right'. He was starting to become dependent on Aizen, demanding to see the overlord more often. Of course, Aizen denied his desires more often than not, delighting in torturing him by his absence.

Gin noticed that he had quite cracked, but perhaps he had been a cracked pot from the very beginning.

By week 90, however, he was starting to grow a new personality. Gin and Aizen compared themselves laughingly to being parents of a strange and disturbing kind. They observed the phenomena with no little fascination – Shuuhei was starting to identify himself as one of Aizen's party, adoring to both the overlord and his right hand, starting to crack a smile, tell a wicked joke.

By the hundredth week, he was recounting scandalous tales which he had been part of in Seireitei, or which he had heard about. Asked by Aizen if he remembered he was his prisoner, the young man nodded, smiled widely and claimed it was sexy. And what about the death threat? Well... He wasn't sure he liked that, but being at Aizen's and Gin's mercy was, how do you say it, a turn on. As long as they didn't hurt him too badly.

They started exploring Shuuhei's kinky side after that. Aizen started lightly, silk bondage and the works, having too much fun to consider killing him. No, a plan started forming in his mind from something Shuuhei had said – the young man would kill himself. And on no other night but the thousand and first. Until then, he would be well prepared and in such a psychological state as to be more than willing to do it. Aizen considered it to be a stroke of genius. How wonderful it was, he felt, to have such a pliable young man.

By the nine hundred ninety ninth day, Aizen was almost sad to see him go. He had become such a perverted, adoring, unpredictable captive that it was almost a pity. Almost. He would be missed, but his death was too much of a turn on to give it up.

* * *

Shuuhei went up to Aizen's chamber from his own initiative, two steps at a time, grinning, bewildering the Arrancar he passed on his way and who knew that this was his last night. There were bets that he would either be murdered before sunrise or kept, but most inclined to believe he would be killed – they tried telling him, but to no avail.

When he went inside, he noticed that Aizen was waiting, smiling kindly, almost like his captain self. He fell at the man's knees and hugged them tight.

"My lord," he said, kissing his legs feverishly. "What will our pleasure be tonight?"

Aizen ordered him stripped on the bed. Shuuhei threw his clothes off faster than you could say 'shunpo' and eagerly lay down.

"One single game, pet," the man said, presenting a knife to him. "Poison."

"Ah?" Shuuhei asked, pouting playfully. "Doesn't sound fun."

"The deeper it goes, the more poison."

"Still doesn't sound fun."

Aizen leaned over, the knife in his hand. Shuuhei grinned trustingly. The overlord scratched his skin slightly with the blade.

"Gods," Shuuhei groaned, throwing his head backward. "More!"

"You'll kill yourself with it," Aizen said, wondering if Shuuhei recognized it not for a warning, but an order.

"Please!"

A new light scratch and Aizen could see the signs of addiction. He didn't bother with preparing the young man – he was far too gone to notice any pain and soreness would be the least of his problems come morning. At Shuuhei's pleas, he gave the young man his knife, urging him softly to be carefully with it, feeling him writhe under him from the pure pleasure of the poison.

And, as he had started doing, the young man played right into his fantasies.

"May I, lord? May I plunge it in?"

"You'll die, pet," Aizen chuckled. It was too good. Too perfect. Too well planned. Maybe he should have asked Gin to come along.

"Please. Maybe I can survive."

"I myself couldn't, Shuuhei."

"Please! I know I could!"

Aizen leaned down, licked a trace on his chin, made the young man squirm.

"I could live," Shuuhei insisted. "Please."

His throat getting dry from the sheer pleasure of doing this, Aizen rasped, "Go ahead, then."

The hand rose high, Shuuhei grinning madly. Yes. Beautiful. Nothing would ever compare with suicide on the last night, Aizen felt. Broken, captured, loving Shuuhei.

And when the knife came down, he came, collapsing on the young man's body in an orgasm the intensity of which he had never dreamed of before, the blade buried deep in his back, the poison deadly in seconds.

Shuuhei laughed, pushing the man off him, climbing on top.

"I win, Aizen-sama," he said, grinning. "I'm fucking insane by now, and I know it, but I win." He cleared his throat, kissed the dead lips and smiled again. "Wasn't it beautiful? I didn't tell you 1001 stories that always went on, but a single story. Ain't that grand? Here's the secret, wanna know the secret? You never strike until you're either 100% that you'll succeed, or it's strike or death. You gave me both, didn't ya? You never brag to anything but a corpse. You need to really believe your act. Hell, man, loved your body in the end. Fuck you. No, really. Fuck you. But guess what? The war is over. And I also realized how I can get away from this. See? I'm insane. Fuck, everybody knows I'm insane. And they know it was my last night. And you're splendid, splendid. I love the way you told me where our shinigami still hang about in their outpost in this world. Splendid. See you. Well, no, not really. Byeeee!"

With another kiss and a ruffle of the man's hair, he grabbed a bath robe from the adjacent bathroom. "I'll be able to return to sanity as soon as I'm home," he grinned. "But, until then, ta!"

He ran out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind him, jumped down stairs, hugged all Arrancar in the place, hugged Grimmjow, who hated him, Ulquiorra, who was cold, Szayel, who groaned at not being allowed to do anything to Aizen's favorite toy, always running towards the exit, screaming at the top of his lungs, as he never would again, "I'm free! I live! I get to be his sex slave forever!"

* * *

AN: **Please review!**

This fucked up idea came to me from reading a story in which Aizen similarly had captives he slept with, one of which was Shuuhei. It didn't go quite like this, though. I'd credit the author, but hell, I can't remember who it was. Also, I always wanted to write a story in which the crazy woman kidnapped by the insane bastard (e.g. "The Collector" by John Fowles, a Forever Knight episode in the first season) really has a chance to escape. Except in this case it's Shuuhei, not a chick. Obviously.

So **review. **Tell me what you think.


End file.
